


Impossible but True

by Mjazilem



Category: 12 Monkeys (TV)
Genre: 12 monkeys - Freeform, 1x01, Dr. Cassy, Episode Tag, Missing Scene, Whump, doctor Cassy, pilot, season 1 episode 1, splintering, uncounscious cole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mjazilem/pseuds/Mjazilem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a tag to the first episode filling in with a quick look at what Cassy did when a bleeding Cole passed out in her Hotel room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impossible but True

Scarcely a day has gone by in two years where I didn't think about him. I bet if I really counted there's not been one single day where he didn't linger in my thoughts. If not at the forethought then just waiting for an unguarded moment. His face had grown foggy. He had become pleading eyes and a scruffy beard but his name was burned on my brain with a red hot brand. Cole.

I went to the John Adam's Hotel just like he'd said to and I waited for him for a week. In that week, that desperate week I truly began to question my sanity just like so many of the people around me over the years had. I, for most of the two years had held fast to what I'd seen but there were times I doubted that a man had disappeared in front of me. 

My conviction ebbed and flowed. The day at the hotel was suppose to prove for me once and for all that I wasn't crazy and when he didn't show on the day my heart sank. Even with a heavy heart, I wasn't yet ready to give up, give in and go home. I stayed, holding out hope that something would happen, anything, that would explain everything.

When I saw him coming up the stairs and the recognition was instantaneous. The sight of him was like a lightening bolt to my brain. He was there and he was real and it shocked me from a state of unmoving disbelief weighed down by a sinking in my soul into action. 

And now I'm standing over an unconscious time traveler who's bleeding from a wound he impossibly got two years ago. I stand over him staring, taking everything in but not truly processing, probably longer them I should and am only brought back to reality when the phone in my pocket vibrates. I'm sure it's a text or an email I don't check because where ever or whenever this man is from he is bleeding in my bed and I need to do something about that. 

He's lucky I like to travel prepared. I get my suture kit from my suitcase and turn the water on in the bathroom so it gets hot. I scrub my hands and arms. Disinfect my needle and tweezers and get some warm water in the emptied ice bucket, a wash cloth, and clean towel. 

I set the things down on the side table and even though he's unconscious I announce my intentions “I'm going to clean your wound now.” I moved his blood soaked shirt back a little more and wiped at the blood that is still flowing. 

He doesn't respond to my voice or when my gloved hands touched the area around the bullet hole. It is probably for the best that he was passed out otherwise this would hurt. I probe the wound with my tweezers looking for any fabric or debris pulled in by the bullet. 

After a couple minuets I'm satisfied it looks clean. So clean even as I probe deep into the wound I find no bullet. 

Wiping my forehead on my sleeve I realized needed to check his back. I can't believe I didn't think of that sooner but bullet wounds aren't really my specialty.“I'm going to have to roll you over and check your back.” He laid still, eyes closed unmoving so I go ahead.

I pushed and moved him up onto his side as far as I can get his deadweight. I prop him up and pull his coat back and peal his shirts up. His back is bloody and I breath a sign of relief. I won't have to do anymore probing for the bullet. “It's gone through, you're lucky.” 

My brain starts to formulate a plan of action and after a beat I put my plan into action. I press gauze onto the front wound and lay a folded towel down under him. I roll him onto his front making sure his face is turned out of the pillow. Carefully I pull his coat and sweatshirt off one arm at a time and throw them on a nearby chair. 

I disinfect the exit wound and listen for any change in his breathing. After probing and cleaning the wound on his back I stitch it up and tape a bandage over it. Then I roll him back onto his back and stitch the wound on his front which seems to have miraculously stopped bleeding. 

After bandaging it I step back and breath. My hands shake slightly and there is a hitch in my breath. 'I just stitched a wound that should have been long healed' I think in disbelief coming down from this major adrenaline rush. 

He takes a sudden shallow gasping breath and I snap back into doctor mode. He'd kept coughing two years ago. He didn't seem to be healthy even before he was shot, I remember. 

I pull a stethoscope out of my bag. Always prepared that's me. I put my hand under his shirt and listen to his lungs and his heart. Things sound clear and strong. He doesn't seem sick. I wonder if I should check him for other injuries. 

I pull out a pen light and move to take a look at his pupils and suddenly his eyes pop open and he is looking around but he seems in between unconsciousness and panic. I try to calm him before he does any serious damage to himself “Hey you're ok lay back, hey hey hey, just lay back you're ok.” 

I take the opportunity to examine his eyes, his pupils are responsive and so when he slips back into oblivion I let him go. 

It occurs to me next that his clothing is bloody and the sheets are bloody at least from where his bloody hands touched them and there's bloody towels scattered around. There's so much blood. 

This won't do, I collect the towels and throw them in the bath tub and let the water run. Then I go back into the room and can't help but look at him. 

He looked like a deranged homeless man when he showed up in my life two years ago. He's wearing the same clothes and still has the same scraggly hair though now it's plastered to his sweaty brow. He has the same scruffy beard and worn clothes but he doesn't look so scary now. At least passed out like he his he doesn't have that crazy and intense air about him. He seems almost peaceful. 

“I'm going to take your shirts off because they're all bloody.” If he hears there's not any indication so I carefully pulls his shirts up away from his wound and then work his left arm and then right arm out of the sleeves and up over his head. I throw them in the bathtub with the towels and think tiredly that maybe soaking will do them good. 

I stand in the doorway to the bathroom and examine his prone body on the bed. He's pale and thin and even from this distance a few feet away I can see he has a number of old scars from wounds that were treated with varying degrees of skill. It looks like he's been in a war zone. He's scarred and dirty. 

It's not that he looks like he's been rolling in mud but he's got a layer of grim on him and dried blood on his hands and arms. 

I take the ice bucket and get fresh water and grab a new washcloth. Pulling a chair to the bed side I announce what I'm going to do next “I'm going to wash you off a bit.” It feels weird braking the quiet that had fallen after the frenzy but he doesn't stir so I proceed. 

I start at his hands and get the blood off the best that I can without scrubbing too hard. It doesn't take to long for the water and the cloth to get nasty so I go and get new. We're lucky the hotel stocks their rooms well. 

Next I wipe off his arms. There's some bruises but nothing major. I can see redness and bruises that appear to be from multiple injections along his arms but I don't see any track marks so I don't think he's a junkie. 

He certainly not frail like junkies often are He's got muscle. He's definitely strong but not in a 'I work out everyday' male model kind of way but more like an 'I chop wood and hike for miles' kind of way. I wipe off his chest and his neck and then steel myself to do his face. 

I stand up and wet the cloth anew and take a close look at his features. 

It occurs to me that I can't tell his age. He seems both old and young at the same time. Maybe it's because of hard living. It occurs to me that I don't know anything about where he comes from except it's the future. I can't believe he's really here...what had he said was his present? 2043? but he's real I can touch him and have had his blood on my hands. He's real and soon, as soon as he wakes up I'm going to get some answers.


End file.
